


like a dog with a bird at your door

by iwasfollowingyou



Category: Succession (TV 2018)
Genre: (but it's chill), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cheating, Episode Related, Episode: s01e09 Pre-Nuptial, Episode: s01e10 Nobody Is Ever Missing, Internalized Homophobia, Light Angst, M/M, Praise Kink, Roman Roy is Gay, Sexuality Crisis, Smut, make-up sex, this is my first time writing smut pls be nice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-18
Updated: 2020-07-18
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:41:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25367755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iwasfollowingyou/pseuds/iwasfollowingyou
Summary: His life is a disaster. His life is a joke.He’s sleeping with his brother’s best friend on the night before his sister’s wedding, while his girlfriend is back in his room probably getting herself off in the shower because he can’t bring himself to man up and fuck her like a real human being, like someone who is actually well-adjusted and not a fucking mess, like someone who isn’t constantly questioning everything he ever does because nothing ever feels right.There’s something seriously wrong with him.
Relationships: Roman "Romulus" Roy/Tabitha, Stewy Hosseini/Roman "Romulus" Roy
Comments: 14
Kudos: 60





	like a dog with a bird at your door

**Author's Note:**

> title is from moon song by phoebe bridgers. (the fic may be from roman's pov, but the title is definitely stewy's)
> 
> _You couldn't have, you couldn't have  
>  Stuck your tongue down the throat of somebody  
> Who loves you more  
> So I will wait for the next time you want me  
> Like a dog with a bird at your door_

Roman is not the kind of person who enjoys big family gatherings. Funerals are a nightmare. Weddings, somehow, are even worse. Everyone is in too good of a mood.

He lost count of how many hours he’s been here already, but he’s pretty sure the answer is “too fucking many.” He lost count of how many family members or acquaintances have come up and tried to engage him in conversation, but the answer is, similarly, “too fucking many.” He can’t remember most of their names. Too many old people have patted his shoulder and told him he’s grown up nicely, as if he’s sixteen years old at Greg’s bar mitzvah and not a grown fucking man with a job and responsibilities and a top-floor office in the Waystar building. He expects someone to pinch his cheeks next.

Really, all he wants to do is steal a couple bottles of wine, escape to his and Tabitha’s room, get drunk, and pass out.

He straightens up for a second, takes a sip of wine, stretches his shoulders, and then leans back against the wall.

Stewy sidles up next to him, appearing out of nowhere like a fucking ghost—or a demon, more accurately, Roman thinks. 

“You know your mom is going around asking people how long they give it?”

Roman glances at him out of the corner of his eye. “That’s kinda horrible.”

“Agreed.”

“So, how long do you give it?”

Stewy takes a sip of his wine. “Told her forever.” He looks at Roman, then back out over the room. “Or whenever Shiv goes away for a weekend.”

Roman snorts into his glass. “God, you’re a piece of shit.”

He catches Stewy’s grin just before it disappears. “I know.” 

Roman shakes his head and downs the last few drops of his wine. A waiter passes by, and he holds the glass up. The guy refills it without making eye contact with him, then vanishes without saying a word. Roman lifts the glass back up to his mouth.

“You don’t seem like you’re enjoying yourself very much,” Stewy comments.

Roman shrugs. “It’s fine.”

“Bored?”

“I guess.”

“You wanna…”

“No,” he snaps. Stewy looks offended, and Roman glances around, making sure no one was in earshot. “Jesus, Stewy.”

“I didn’t even say anything, dude.”

“Yeah, but you—oh, fuck off.” 

Stewy smirks and takes another sip of wine. “I’m just saying. Offer’s on the table. If you need to, you know, let off some steam.” 

Roman chooses not to dignify that with a response. He scans the room again; no one is paying attention to them. All of the guests have broken off into their own little bubbles of three or four, probably discussing the most menial topics in the world. Roman kind of hates all of them. He kind of hates himself, considering he’s one of them, too.

“How’s Kendall?” Roman asks.

“Hm? Oh, he’s fine.”

“He seemed a little out of it.”

“Nah, he’s fine.” 

Roman raises an eyebrow and scans Stewy’s face, checking for any hint that he’s lying. “Sure. Okay.”

“Hey!” comes another voice. Roman looks up and tries for a cheerful smile.

“Hey.”

“There you are.” Tabitha grabs his shoulder. “I thought I lost you.” 

“Saw you talking to Shiv.” Roman nods towards his sister, who’s now standing over by the bar. “Didn’t want to interrupt your little girl chatter.”

Tabitha rolls her eyes. “Uh-huh. Have you talked to her at all tonight?”

“Why would that matter? I talk to her every day.”

She opens her mouth like she’s about to say something, then thinks better of it and just sighs. Her gaze shifts to the left, and she tilts her head with a sly smile. “Who’s your friend, Rome?”

Roman glances at Stewy. “Not my friend.”

“Ouch.” Stewy places his hand over his heart, then reaches out and takes Tabitha’s. They shake, and Roman is probably overthinking the extra beat they both take before letting go. “Stewy Hosseini. Friend of the brother of the bride.”

“Which brother?”

“Kendall.”

“I see. So not friends with this one.” Tabitha gestures to Roman. 

Stewy looks at Roman. Roman stares down into his drink. “Not exactly, no.” He clears his throat. “Anyway, you are…?”

“Oh! My bad.” She laughs. “Tabitha Gold. Roman’s girlfriend.”

Roman keeps his eyes down, but it’s not hard to picture the slight look of confusion that he knows is passing over Stewy’s face. “Oh, _you’re_ Tabitha!”

Tabitha elbows Roman in the side. “You’ve, uh, heard of me?”

“A little bit. All good things,” he assures her. Roman risks looking back up at them. Stewy is smiling charmingly. Roman’s stomach twists strangely.

“Alright, alright, we get it,” he says sharply. Stewy and Tabitha both look at him in surprise. “I’m glad you’re getting along so swimmingly.” Tabitha gives him a puzzled look and bumps his shoulder with her arm. He shakes her off. “You two can, you know, get to know each other. I’m gonna—” His mind scrambles to come up with some kind of excuse, but it doesn’t process quickly enough. “I’ll be back.”

“...ohhh-kay,” Tabitha says.

Roman resists the urge to look back over his shoulder as he walks away. He steps out into the foyer, then heads for the bathroom, because he can’t think of anywhere else to go. 

The door locks quietly behind him. He takes a deep breath and glances at his reflection. He fixes a few loose strands of hair, then straightens out his jacket and glares at himself.

He tries not to think about everything that Stewy and Tabitha could be telling each other right now. He tries not to think about Tabitha cracking a joke about Roman’s inability to fuck, about Stewy letting something slip and Tabitha realizing what’s going on and coming in here to kill him.

It’s fine. It’s probably fine. Both Tabitha and Stewy know better than that—Roman hopes to God they know better than that, or else this wedding is going to get incredibly dark incredibly fast. Suddenly he wishes he hadn’t left so abruptly, so at least he could monitor their conversation.

When he gets back to them, they’re chatting casually about some play that they’ve both seen multiple times. Roman didn’t know that either of them was into theater. He guesses that’s something he should have known.

Stewy excuses himself politely a few minutes later, saying something about seeing someone he needs to talk to. Roman doesn’t protest. He’s silently grateful when Stewy leaves.

Tabitha offers to grab him another drink, and he immediately accepts. He needs some more wine if he’s going to make it through tonight.

* * *

“I didn’t realize you had other friends,” Tabitha comments once they’re back up in their room. She sits down on the bed and takes her heels off.

“He’s not my friend,” Roman says. It’s true, at least. He wouldn’t say that he and Stewy are friends. He doesn’t know what the fuck they are, but they definitely aren’t friends. 

“Oh, right. He’s Kendall’s friend.”

Roman nods. “Exactly. Not mine.”

“He’s nice,” Tabitha says as she lays back on the mattress.

“Oh, fuck off,” Roman huffs. “He is not _nice_.”

There are a lot of words that Roman would use to describe Stewy. “Nice” doesn’t quite make the list. 

“I like him.” She watches as Roman shrugs off his jacket and unbuttons his cuffs, then rolls up his sleeves. “And you didn’t seem to hate him as much as you hate most people.”

Roman’s cheeks heat up, and he quickly turns his face away from her. “He’s fine, I guess. Completely fucking insufferable but, you know. All of them are.” 

“What’s his story?”

“Why are you so interested in him?” He tries to keep his voice level, but it comes out a little sharp anyway.

Tabitha makes a noncommittal sound. “I told you, I thought he was nice. And he’s hot.”

“Hey!”

She laughs. “You’re kind of cute when you’re jealous.”

“I’m not—oh, fuck you.” He finishes rolling his sleeves up to his elbows and sits on the edge of the bed. Tabitha pokes him in the back. “I’m not fucking _jealous_. If you want to fuck Stewy, then go ahead and fuck Stewy.”

She sits up and drapes her arms over his shoulders, resting her head against his. “Lighten up, babe. I don’t want to fuck anyone as badly as I want to not fuck you.”

Roman makes a face, but he doesn’t shrug her off. “He’s one of—he’s Kendall’s only friend. Went to fucking kindergarten with him. College roommates, the whole shebang. Best friends forever,” he says mockingly. “That’s about it.” 

“I see,” she says thoughtfully. “So, he and Kendall have definitely fucked.” 

A shiver of horror races down Roman’s spine. “No! Jesus fuck, _no_. Ew. Ew. Fuck.”

The very thought of it makes him want to puke up all of the wine, crackers, and cheese in his stomach. It makes him physically ill. It makes him, strangely, want to punch Kendall in the face.

Tabitha laughs. “Jesus. I was kidding!”

Roman takes a shaky breath. “Ha ha,” he says weakly.

Tabitha lets go of him and settles back against the pillows. He can feel her eyes on him. He feels like he’s being examined under a microscope. His hands are suddenly sweaty. He’s being too obvious. He’s definitely being too obvious, and Tabitha definitely knows, and she’s figured it out, and she’s going to start interrogating him, and he needs to jump out the fucking window.

“I’m gonna take a shower,” she says.

“Okay.”

“Do you want to join me?”

Roman looks at her. “I, uh—”

Tabitha rolls her eyes playfully and kicks his thigh. “I’m kidding.”

“Right.” 

She sits up and kisses his cheek. He leans into it and sighs softly. Tabitha squeezes his hand lightly before getting up and disappearing into the bathroom. Roman stares at the floor.

He shouldn’t do what he’s about to do. It’s wrong. It’s definitely wrong. On multiple levels. It’s morally and ethically fucked up, and it feels like it’s more of a betrayal of Tabitha than any of this has been so far. It’s incredibly wrong, and he’s a complete asshole for even thinking about it, much less following through.

He gets to his feet and knocks on the bathroom door. 

The toilet flushes. “Yeah?” comes Tabitha’s voice. 

“My, uh, my mom just texted me,” he lies lamely. “Couple of cousins arrived late. Want me to come say hi.” 

“Sounds good!”

“Might not be here when you get out.”

“That’s fine. Enjoy yourself. Have some more wine for me.”

“Yeah.” 

Just before he walks out, he takes another look around the room. He can hear the shower running. 

He swallows down the guilt and shuts the door behind him.

* * *

Stewy opens the door as if he was expecting Roman to show up. Roman isn’t sure whether that says more about Stewy or more about himself. 

“Hi,” Stewy greets him. 

“Hi.” Roman brushes past him, their shoulders bumping as he walks into the room. “Nice digs.”

Stewy raises an eyebrow. “Yeah, what is this, half the size of your room?” 

Roman allows himself a tiny smile. “I’d say about a third.”

Stewy snorts. “Want a drink?”

Roman looks over at the selections—each room is fully stocked (he thinks it’s his mother’s doing), which he’s grateful for. But for some reason, the idea of drinking anything more makes his stomach turn.

“I’m good. Had enough at the party.” 

Stewy looks slightly surprised, but he shrugs and moves past it. Roman thinks he might pour himself a glass, but he just leans back against the dresser, eyeing Roman carefully, arms crossed over his chest. Roman suddenly feels incredibly naked. His shoulders tense, and he looks away.

“Hey,” Stewy says carefully. “You alright?” 

“Fine.”

“Did you have a nice time tonight?”

Roman fucking hates small talk. He doesn’t want to have a conversation; he wants to just do this and get it over with so he can slink back to his room in shame and pretend like it never happened. In other circumstances, he’d take the initiative himself, grab onto Stewy and pull him in and kiss him until Stewy can’t think about anything else. This time, he doesn’t.

“It was fine.”

“Not a partier,” Stewy comments. 

“Not with family.” 

“I met some of your cousins and stuff.” 

“Cool.”

“Yeah. They weren’t as big of pricks as I was expecting, based on past experience with the Roy clan.”

“Fuck you.” 

Stewy smiles at him. “How’d you and Tabitha meet?”

Roman flinches at her name. Stewy doesn’t seem to notice. “What, she didn’t tell you?”

“No.”

“She sucked Tom’s dick at his bachelor party.” 

Stewy doesn’t look as surprised as Roman expected. If anything, he looks almost impressed. “Huh.”

“Made him swallow his own load.”

“Huh,” Stewy says again. “Well.” He clears his throat. “I liked her.”

“Good to know.” Roman’s voice is colder than before. 

“She’s really cool.”

“Can we not fucking talk about her?” Roman snaps. “I fucking—I feel like enough of an asshole as it is, alright? I don’t—don’t want to talk about her, okay?”

Stewy furrows his eyebrows. “Rome, we don’t have to—”

“Fuck you.” He swallows the lump in his throat. “I don’t—fuck you.” 

“Roman.” Stewy lifts his hand as if he wants to reach out and touch Roman’s shoulder. He doesn’t. His hand falls back to his side. “We don’t have to do this. Seriously.”

“No, it’s not—” Roman runs a hand through his hair, tugs at it in frustration. “I _want_ to, it’s just—I’m not—”

“We don’t have to.” Stewy smiles crookedly. “You can leave, if you’re not—if you don’t want to. Or you can just suck my dick or whatever. I’m cool with that, too.”

“Fuck you.”

“I’m joking. Hey.” Stewy takes a step towards him. 

“I don’t know—”

“Rome.” Stewy’s voice is soft. Roman wants to punch him. 

It’s all becoming too incredibly real. He feels like he’s going insane. The reality of the situation is so fucking ridiculous that he wants to laugh. He doesn’t think he could laugh without bursting into tears. 

His life is a disaster. His life is a joke.

He’s sleeping with his brother’s best friend on the night before his sister’s wedding, while his girlfriend is back in his room probably getting herself off in the shower because he can’t bring himself to man up and fuck her like a real human being, like someone who is actually well-adjusted and not a fucking mess, like someone who isn’t constantly questioning everything he ever does because nothing ever feels right.

There’s something seriously wrong with him.

Stewy’s hand is on his arm. Roman hadn’t felt him put it there. 

“Roman.”

Roman closes his eyes and drops his head. Stewy steps closer, and when Roman doesn’t push him away, he wraps his arms around him and pulls him into his chest.

“Do you want to talk?” Stewy asks quietly. Roman shakes his head.

“Kiss me,” he whispers against Stewy’s neck. 

Stewy pulls back. Roman opens his eyes and looks up at him, pleading. Stewy rests his forehead against Roman’s. They take a breath in sync. 

Stewy kisses him, soft and slow and careful.

The longer Stewy’s lips are against his, the more the guilt starts to melt away. 

Roman wraps his arms around Stewy’s neck and deepens the kiss, biting lightly at Stewy’s bottom lip. Stewy makes a quiet noise into Roman’s mouth. Roman’s cheeks flush. 

Stewy bumps his knee against Roman’s leg, nudging him backwards until he hits the edge of the bed. Roman grips more tightly onto Stewy’s jacket, keeping him close. Stewy slides his hands around to Roman’s back and untucks his shirt. His fingers are cold against Roman’s skin. Roman shivers. Stewy pulls back just slightly and kisses Roman’s neck softly. Roman tilts his head to allow him easier access.

“Sit down,” Stewy murmurs. Roman lets out a soft whine and stays standing. Stewy nips lightly at his skin and repeats, more harshly this time: “Sit _down_.”

Roman swallows and sits down on the mattress. Stewy smiles down at him and brushes a strand of hair out of his face. Roman leans into his touch. 

“Was that so hard?” 

“Fuck you.”

Stewy raises an eyebrow. Roman lifts his chin and glares defiantly.

“You’re gonna be like that tonight?” Stewy asks him, a hint of a mocking edge to his voice. 

“Like what?” Roman challenges. 

“You fucking brat.” Stewy pushes him onto his back and settles himself over him, arms on either side of Roman’s head, one leg pressed up between Roman’s. Roman wraps his arms around Stewy’s neck and pulls him in. 

Stewy tugs Roman’s bottom lip between his teeth, then runs his tongue over it, and Roman lets out a soft whine. He feels Stewy smile. Stewy presses a light kiss to the corner of his mouth, drops his head down to his jaw, and kisses there. His teeth scrape lightly over Roman’s pulse point.

“Fuck,” Roman hisses, his hips bucking up into Stewy’s. “Don’t leave any fucking hickeys, you piece of sh—”

“Relax,” Stewy murmurs, kissing Roman’s neck. Roman shivers. “Are you relaxed?”

“Fuck you.” He squirms. Stewy presses his hips down, holding Roman’s against the bed. Roman whimpers and jerks up into the pressure.

“That’s not very nice.”

Roman slides his hand up into Stewy’s hair, tangling his fingers in his curls and tugging experimentally. Stewy lifts his head, and Roman pulls him down and presses their lips together. Stewy lets him maintain control for just a moment before he slips his arm underneath Roman’s back, lifting his hips up. Roman lets out a soft gasp, pulling at Stewy’s hair.

Stewy kisses down Roman’s neck again, then presses his nose into the hollow of his throat and kisses just below the collar of his shirt.

“Stewy,” Roman whines. Stewy tightens his arm around him and grinds down. Roman moans softly. Stewy hums against his skin and trails a line of kisses up the side of his neck to just beneath his ear. “Stewy.”

“What?” 

“Stop being a fucking tease.”

Stewy hums. “Maybe if you were behaving better.” 

“Fuck you,” Roman says again, punctuated by a gasp as Stewy bites his earlobe. “You’re such a fucking—”

“I wouldn’t finish that sentence if I were you,” Stewy murmurs. 

Roman bites his tongue to stop himself from letting out another _Fuck you._

Stewy kisses the corner of his jaw. “Good boy.”

Roman whimpers and turns his head towards Stewy’s. Stewy kisses him softly as he grabs Roman’s wrists and pins both arms above his head. Roman pushes up against the pressure, just to test it, but Stewy holds firm. He keeps one hand on Roman’s wrists and uses the other to clumsily undo Roman’s zipper. Roman lifts his hips to help. When Stewy lets go of him to pull his pants off, Roman keeps his hand obediently above his head.

Stewy drags his eyes over Roman, one eyebrow and the corner of his mouth quirked up. 

“Look at you,” he says softly. “Pretty boy.”

Roman’s face goes bright red. “Fuck off.”

Stewy’s smirk shifts into a smile. “Look at you,” he says again, leaning back in and kissing Roman gently. “My good boy.” 

Roman can’t help that whimper that falls from his lips. “Stewy,” he whines.

Stewy’s. Roman doesn’t mind being Stewy’s, at least not right now. In a little while, he might have something else to say about it, but for the moment, all he can do is respond with soft, desperate noises and return Stewy’s fervent kisses.

He briefly wonders if there’s someone staying on the other side of the wall, if the noises he’s making are somehow going to be broadcast through the entire castle. 

Then Stewy pulls back and unbuttons his shirt, and suddenly, Roman no longer gives a shit about anything that isn’t right in front of him.

“Fuck,” he mutters. Stewy shrugs his shirt off and tosses it to the side. Roman’s mouth is dry. “Fuck.” 

“Watch your mouth.” Stewy leans back down and kisses him. “It’s nothing you haven’t seen before.” 

“Yeah, but _fuck_.” 

Stewy laughs softly and kisses his cheek. Roman moves his hand to Stewy’s bicep. His skin is warm against his palm. Stewy flexes slightly, and Roman rolls his eyes.

“You’re so annoying.”

Stewy kisses the corner of his mouth. “And yet here you are.”

“And yet here I—” His breath hitches as Stewy grinds down— “am. Fuck. Will you hurry the fuck up already?”

“Needy,” Stewy scolds lightly. He taps Roman’s hip. “You wanna move up on the pillows for me?”

“No,” Roman huffs.

Stewy raises an eyebrow, then wraps his arm under Roman’s waist and shifts him until he’s positioned the way Stewy wants him. Roman can’t quite catch his breath. Stewy smiles innocently down at him.

“Are you gonna be good now?” 

Roman nods quickly.

“Good boy.”

Roman ruts his hips up into Stewy’s and tries not to moan too loudly. Stewy murmurs a few more praises into his ear, sending shivers down Roman’s spine with every word.

He’s okay with this. He is incredibly okay with this.

Stewy presses another kiss to his pulse, and Roman’s mind goes blank.

“Roman.”

Roman manages a soft whine in response. Stewy nudges his legs apart with his knee.

“Roman,” Stewy says again. 

“What?” he manages to choke out. 

“Are you okay?” He kisses Roman’s jaw. “With this?”

“Am I okay with—” Roman repeats. He laughs breathlessly. “Fuck, Stewy.”

“I’m just making sure you want to do this.”

“Why the fuck would I be here if I didn’t—”

“Roman,” Stewy says, and Roman closes his mouth. “Just tell me you want this, and I’ll keep going.” He presses his thigh down, and Roman twitches. 

He nods. “Yeah. Yes. Yes. Please.” 

Stewy smiles. “There we go.” His voice is gentle, almost proud, and it draws another whimper from Roman’s lips.

Roman grabs Stewy by the shoulders and pulls him back down, kissing him roughly. Stewy mumbles something against his mouth and pulls away. Roman whines at the loss of contact. Stewy quickly undoes his belt and his zipper, then repositions himself on top of Roman. Roman’s fingernails dig into his arms, and Stewy lets out a soft moan.

“Roman,” he murmurs. “Fuck.” His beard scratches against Roman’s skin as he goes back to kissing down his neck.

Stewy has a thing for his neck, apparently. Roman doesn’t mind it at all, as long as there are no marks in the morning.

He guesses most people would assume the bruises were from Tabitha. He doesn’t quite know how he would explain them to her.

Stewy pulls back again, and Roman is half tempted to curse him out for it. Then Stewy shoots him a lopsided smile and pulls his boxers down his thighs, and Roman doesn’t really care anymore, not when Stewy’s hands are grabbing his hips and dragging him back towards him like Roman doesn’t weigh anything.

“Stewy.”

“Hm?”

“Do you—fuck. Do you have—”

“Yeah. Yeah.” Stewy kisses him, then pushes himself up off the mattress and walks across the room to his bag. 

Roman stares. Stewy’s muscles flex under his skin, dips of his collarbones and shoulder blades catching the dim light from the lamp in the corner and casting shadows across his chest and back.

Stewy glances back at him. “Enjoying the view?”

Roman rolls his eyes. “Prick.”

“Ouch. Mean.” Stewy jumps back onto the bed, jostling Roman around a bit, and kisses him. Roman hums against his lips. “Good?” Stewy asks as they pull away. 

“I swear to God, if you ask me one more fucking time—”

“Hey, Roman?”

“What?”

“You can shut up now.” 

He shoves Stewy’s shoulder lightly, and Stewy grins. “Fuck off.”

“Nope.” Stewy kisses him. “Hey.”

“Hm?”

He grabs Roman’s thigh and pushes his legs apart. Roman offers no resistance. Stewy leans back down and kisses at Roman’s neck. Roman shivers in anticipation, thinking that the wait may kill him. 

Stewy seems to enjoy this part a little too much, dragging it out and forcing Roman to practically beg for more. Roman tries to hold out, tries not to whine and plead as Stewy twists his wrist and crooks his fingers. He gives in every single time. Each time, Stewy rewards him with a soft “Good boy.”

By the time Stewy pulls his fingers out, Roman is practically writhing on the mattress. Stewy sits back and watches for a second, dragging his eyes over Roman’s body. Roman whimpers. 

“Stewy,” he pleads. 

“Yeah, baby?”

“Please.”

Stewy smiles. “Well, since you asked so nicely.” 

Roman wants to punch him in the face. He wants to punch Stewy in the face a lot. Strangely, he’s never been able to follow through. 

Stewy positions himself over Roman, holding himself up with one arm. Roman wraps his arms around Stewy’s neck, his right hand sliding up into Stewy’s hair. Stewy presses his forehead against Roman’s and takes a deep breath. It’s warm against Roman’s lips when he lets it out. Roman breathes in.

Stewy slowly pushes in, and Roman lets out his breath in one long hiss. Stewy murmurs softly to him: “You’re good. Good, baby. That’s my good boy.” Roman can’t do anything but whimper.

Stewy pauses and holds still for a minute. Roman tightens his grip on Stewy’s hair, his other hand gripping onto his bicep. Stewy kisses across his lips, then his cheeks, then scatters kisses along his jaw, mixing in praise between every press of his lips. Roman feels like he might explode, like he’s a time bomb ticking closer and closer to detonation with each kiss.

“Okay,” he whispers. 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Stewy starts moving his hips in slow, short thrusts. Roman lets out quiet moans, tilting his head back against the pillows. Stewy keeps kissing along his neck as he thrusts in and out, and Roman can tell how hard he has to fight to resist leaving bite marks. Roman almost wants to say fuck it and let Stewy have at it, but he knows that if he lets one bruise go, he’s going to be covered in them. Stewy’s not good at holding himself back once he’s been given permission.

After a few minutes, Roman murmurs to Stewy to speed up. Stewy immediately does. He’s breathing heavily above Roman, and Roman is trying to keep his eyes open, fixed on Stewy’s face, but he can’t help but close them when Stewy snaps his hips in, and Roman lets out a loud moan and bucks up into Stewy.

His hands fall to the side, and he clenches the sheets in his fists until Stewy takes his hands and pins them down on the mattress. He links their fingers together and kisses Roman, all tongue and teeth, and Roman gasps into his mouth. 

“Fuck,” he whines. “Stewy, fuck, _fuck_.”

“Shh, baby,” Stewy soothes him. “You’re good. Fuck. You’re so good.”

Roman nods, a strangled sound escaping his throat. “Fuck.”

Stewy stops for a second, and Roman almost sobs, but Stewy just readjusts himself and continues, harder and faster than before. Roman moans out his name, and Stewy whispers something back, but there’s blood rushing in Roman’s ears, and he can barely hear anything besides his own gasps and whimpers and Stewy’s breath in his ear.

“Roman.”

He whines in response.

“Come on, baby, you close?”

Roman nods. “Yeah. Yeah.”

“Good boy.” Stewy kisses him, thrusts hard, hits a spot that scatters stars across Roman’s vision. “You’re so good for me, baby. You wanna come, sweetheart?”

“Please,” Roman gasps.

Stewy lets go of one of Roman’s hands, grabs his hip, lifts him up and quickens his pace. Roman moans, loud and broken, whimpering Stewy’s name over and over, mixed with a string of expletives, and comes all over his shirt and Stewy’s torso.

“Fuck,” Stewy mutters, dropping his hand from Roman’s hip and grabbing onto the sheets. He presses his face into Roman’s neck. Roman uses his free hand to grab Stewy’s shoulder, then drags his fingernails down Stewy’s back as Stewy pounds into him, whispering curses and praise against his skin.

It’s all too fucking much, the way Stewy is grabbing him, his breath hot on Roman’s neck, his hips slamming into Roman’s, and Roman feels like he’s about to black out, and he thinks he does for a second, just as Stewy bites down on the junction of his neck and shoulder, muffling a moan against Roman’s skin. Roman clenches around him, and Stewy thrusts a few more times before his hips stutter to a stop.

Stewy collapses on top of him, breathing heavily, his chest and Roman’s moving up and down in sync.

“Fuck,” Stewy whispers.

Roman manages to catch just enough breath to agree, “Fuck.”

They lay there like that for a minute, until Roman can no longer feel Stewy’s heart pounding, and Stewy carefully pulls out, rolls the condom off, and does his best to throw it away. Roman doesn’t think it quite makes it to the trash can. He doesn’t care. That’s Stewy’s problem.

Stewy wraps an arm around his waist and pulls him back in, peppering kisses on his neck. Roman whines and pushes his head away. Stewy smiles tiredly at him.

“Good?”

“Yeah.” Roman closes his eyes as Stewy presses a kiss to his forehead. “Good.”

“Good boy,” Stewy murmurs, and Roman is already half ready to go again.

He looks down at himself and mutters, “Shit.” 

“Hm?”

“Fucking look at me.” He pulls the fabric of his shirt away from his sweaty skin. Stewy raises an eyebrow, then looks down at the mess on his own stomach. Roman snorts. “Jesus Christ, you need a shower.” 

“You gonna join me?” 

“Fuck off.” 

“I’ll give you a clean shirt.” 

Roman almost wants to protest, but even he knows that he can’t walk back to his room looking like this. He nods, and Stewy gets out of bed, stepping fully out of his pants as he does. He rustles around in his bag for a moment, then tosses a fresh shirt towards Roman. Stewy turns away as Roman quickly changes, balling up the dirty shirt and leaving it at the end of the bed. 

Stewy crawls back into bed and kisses Roman again. Roman almost wants to push him away. He doesn’t. Stewy pulls back and lays on the opposite side of the mattress. 

Once they’ve both managed to mostly recover, Stewy says softly, “I’m guessing you’re not gonna stick around.” 

There’s no judgment in his voice, but Roman thinks he sees a flash of something in his expression. He ignores it.

“I can’t.” 

“Yeah.” Stewy sighs. “Hey.”

“What?”

“C’mere.”

He grabs Roman’s arm and pulls him back down. Roman lets himself fall onto the mattress, and Stewy leans in and kisses his neck softly. Roman shivers. 

“Stewy,” he whispers.

“I know.” 

Stewy kisses down to the collar of his shirt, then back up to his jaw. He presses his mouth to Roman’s, and Roman reaches up and tangles his fingers in Stewy’s hair. Stewy’s lips are warm and soft against his. Stewy’s hand is on his hip, his thumb brushing over the fabric of Roman’s shirt, and Roman doesn’t want it to stop. He wants Stewy to kiss him like this until he falls asleep, until his mind goes blank and he doesn’t have to think about anything else, doesn’t have to consider the consequences of what they’re doing.

Roman pulls back. Stewy lets out a quiet, almost sad laugh. Roman opens his eyes to meet Stewy’s. 

“I need to go,” he says.

“Yeah.” Stewy kisses him again, then rolls off to the side. “I’ll see you in the morning?”

Roman sits up and swings his legs over the side of the bed. He feels Stewy’s eyes on his back. He winces as he stands up, letting out a breath, and focuses on getting redressed. He tucks his shirt into his pants—it’s a little big, but it’ll work for the short walk back to his room. He grabs his dirty shirt and rolls it into as tight a ball as he can manage. 

The guilt is coming back, gnawing at him, a dull ache beneath his ribcage. He shoves it down.

“See you tomorrow,” he says carefully. 

Right as he reaches the door, Roman risks a glance back at the bed. Stewy is propped up on one elbow, the sheet falling over his waist. It sends a jolt down Roman’s spine. It takes every ounce of his resolve not to jump back into bed, to say fuck it and let whatever is going to happen happen, to come up with an excuse for Tabitha in the morning.

“G’night, Rome,” Stewy says.

Roman nods. “Night.”

Tabitha is curled up on her side in bed, facing the wall. Roman quietly shuts the door behind him and creeps into the room. He grabs an undershirt and a pair of sweats and heads into the bathroom, waiting until the door is closed to turn on the light.

He looks like a fucking disaster. He averts his gaze and turns the shower on, undressing to rinse himself off underneath the cold water. It shocks his system, clearing his mind just slightly. He stands underneath the spray for a minute, then steps out of the shower and dries himself off. He brushes his teeth, pulls on his clothes, wraps a towel tightly around his dirty shirt, shuts the light off, and leaves the bathroom. He drops his dirty clothes into a pile near his suitcase and crawls into bed.

Tabitha makes a quiet noise. Roman sits up against the headboard, a pillow hugged to his chest. His body aches. His neck stings where Stewy had sunk his teeth, despite Roman’s warnings, and he just prays that the marks aren’t visible in the morning.

Roman reaches out and rests his hand on Tabitha’s arm. She turns towards him, eyes fluttering open, and smiles tiredly. 

“Hey,” she says.

He swallows dryly. “Hi.” 

“Good time?”

Roman forces himself to nod. “Yeah.”

“Good. I’m glad.” Tabitha yawns. “Night.”

“Night, Tabs.” He leans down and kisses her temple. She closes her eyes, and within a few minutes, she’s fast asleep again.

Roman doesn’t sleep well.

* * *

He doesn’t see Stewy at the wedding.

Or, more accurately, he avoids Stewy at the wedding. After a few glances across the room, Stewy seems to get the hint. A few hours into the reception, he vanishes completely, and Roman doesn’t think about him. He has other shit to worry about.

And then he finds out about what Stewy did, and suddenly he’s thinking about Stewy again, and he’s thinking that now might be the perfect opportunity to kill him. 

Stewy lets him into his room without protest. His bag is on the bed, unzipped and half-packed. Roman turns around to face him. 

“What the fuck?”

“Nice to see you too.”

“Cut the bullshit,” Roman snaps. “What the _fuck_?”

“Roman—”

“How long have you been planning this?”

Stewy sighs. “Since the no confidence vote, but it wasn’t—”

“You couldn’t have given me a fucking heads up?” 

He shakes his head. “I like to keep my business life and my personal life separate.”

Roman looks at him in disbelief. “Your personal li—oh, fuck you. Fuck you, you fucking piece of shit. You think—you think that this shit is _separate_ from all of that? Really?” He scoffs. “There’s no way you’re that fucking dumb.”

“You’d have to talk to Kendall about it.” Stewy shrugs. 

“You’re an asshole.”

“Yeah.”

Roman raises an eyebrow, waiting for something else, some kind of explanation or excuse. Nothing comes. He shakes his head, runs a hand through his hair, and starts pacing back in forth along the side of the bed. Stewy watches. He doesn’t say anything. 

The worst part of the whole thing is that he isn’t even mad at Stewy, really. He knows he should be. It has to be Stewy’s fault. He knows Kendall couldn’t come up with the bear hug by himself, especially because he needs Stewy’s help to follow through on it. Roman should be mad at Stewy. He’s not. He wishes he was. 

He’s pissed off at Kendall, of course. But Kendall has disappeared, and the only outlet for his anger is standing in front of him, perfectly calm and collected. Roman wants to punch him in his stupid face. He thinks that Stewy wouldn’t stop him if he took a swing. 

His eyes fall back to the bag on the bed. “Are you _leaving_?”

“In the morning.” Stewy checks his watch. “Roman.” 

Roman shoots him a glare. “You’re a piece of shit.”

“You’ve mentioned.” 

He runs a hand through his hair, turns and faces Stewy. “What the fuck?” he asks again. 

Stewy sighs. “Rome—”

“Just give me a straightforward fucking answer, douchebag,” Roman snaps. 

“Your dad isn’t fit to run the company,” Stewy says calmly. “I know it, Ken knows it, and you know it.” Roman opens his mouth to protest, but Stewy cuts him off, “The shareholders know it. It’s just an offer, Rome. And a fucking good one. Your dad would have to be fucking insane to turn it down.”

Roman laughs dryly. “You don’t know my dad, then.”

Logan isn’t going to let this slide. He’s not going to give in to Stewy and Kendall. He’s going to find some way out of it, and it’s not going to be pretty. If Kendall lives to see tomorrow, Roman will be shocked.

“It’s a good fucking offer,” Stewy tells him. “If your dad is too much a fucking narcissist to realize how generous we’re being—”

“Oh, fuck off,” Roman snaps. “God, you fucking asshole. At my sister’s wedding? Seriously? You’re gonna fucking swing in here and try to take my family out of—”

“Not your family,” Stewy interrupts. “Your dad.”

Roman shakes his head. “You think we’re fucking anything without him?” he asks, trying and failing to keep his voice steady. “Kendall and I, we’re fucking nothing.”

It would hurt if it wasn’t true, if he wasn’t so desensitized to the fact that he’s worthless that it barely even registers anymore. It’s just another depressing fact added to the pile of depressing facts that makes up his existence.

“Fuck you, Stewy,” he says, but there’s no longer any bite behind it.

“Rome—”

Roman shakes his head and sits down on the edge of the bed, refusing to look at him. 

“Roman.” Stewy’s voice is soft. “Rome, hey.”

He steps forward, puts his hand on Roman’s shoulder. Roman flinches, but he doesn’t pull away. Stewy sits down next to him, the mattress shifting familiarly beneath his weight, and Roman feels like he wants to either cry or stab someone in the neck with a salad fork.

“I didn’t do this to hurt you.”

Roman rolls his eyes. “Whatever.”

“This isn’t about you. It’s not about—it’s not about this. About us.”

“There is no fucking us. This isn’t—we’re not—”

Whatever the fuck this is, it’s not an _us_. There is no them. Roman doesn’t care what Stewy wants to call it, as long as he’s aware of the fact that this means absolutely nothing in the long run. It’s stress relief. It’s convenient. It doesn’t mean anything.

“What Kendall and I are doing,” Stewy says quietly, “is completely separate from this, alright?”

Roman almost wants to laugh. “That’s bullshit.” 

“It’s not.” Stewy fidgets with his watch. “You don’t have to believe me, but—”

“Good. ‘Cause I don’t.”

He sighs. “Right.”

Roman stands up. “Next time you try to fuck my dad’s company, a heads-up would be nice.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Go fuck yourself.”

Stewy grabs Roman’s wrist and turns him around, pulling him back towards the bed. Roman glares down at him.

“You’re cute when you’re pissed at me,” Stewy tells him, the corner of his mouth twitching up.

“And you’re a piece of shit.”

“I know.” Stewy stands, pulls Roman in closer, slips his fingers around his belt. Roman shivers. He should push him away. He should punch him in the dick and tell him to fuck off for good. He doesn’t. Stewy leans in and kisses the corner of his mouth. “I’m sorry.” 

“I find that hard to believe.”

“Let me make it up to you?” Stewy’s voice is low, tempting. Roman swallows dryly.

“No.” 

Stewy nods, releasing his grip on Roman and stepping back. “I really am sorry.”

“Sure.” 

“Rome—”

Roman shakes his head.

Stewy sighs. “I’ll give you some time.” He studies Roman’s face for a second. Roman does his best to remain expressionless. “Can I call you?”

He shrugs. “You can try. Doesn’t mean I have to answer.”

“Worth a shot anyway.” Stewy steps forward, kisses him softly. “I’ll see you?” 

“Maybe.” 

Roman allows himself one more glance at Stewy before he turns around and walks out.

* * *

Roman is awful at avoiding conversations he doesn’t want to have. He’s even worse at acting casually around the people he knows he needs to have those conversations with.

He knows that Tabitha knows something is up. He doesn’t think she knows exactly what’s going on, but she knows it’s something, and she knows that Roman is avoiding it at all costs. 

She gives him a lot of time to stress out over it. It leaves his mind, sometimes, but it always comes back when he least expects it, and he has to drown himself in vodka to stop himself from crying his eyes out over the entire thing. He has a migraine—has had a migraine since they touched down in New York after the wedding.

Everything is falling to pieces, and it just keeps getting worse. He doesn’t know what the fuck he’s doing when it comes to any of it—the company, the Pierce deal, his dad, Kendall, Shiv, Tabitha, Stewy… the list of things he doesn’t understand and can’t figure out stretches for miles.

She waits until he gets home from the stupid fucking management training program before she corners him in the bedroom and tells him, “I think we need to talk.”

His body snaps into fight or flight—his heart pounding, palms sweating, eyes darting around the room looking for an escape, any escape. The window looks relatively promising.

“Roman,” Tabitha says, “oh my God. You look like I just told you that I’m going to murder you. Jesus. Take a deep breath.”

He sits down carefully on the bed and fidgets with his watch. “Okay.” 

“What’s up with you?” she asks, voice gentle. She sits down, a few feet of space between them. Her face is turned towards him. He stares at the floor.

“You’re gonna have to be more specific.” His mouth is dry. “There’s a lot of shit up with me. I can compile a list and get it back to you in a few days.”

“Something happened at Shiv’s wedding that you’re not talking to me about.”

“Yeah, Kendall tried to fuck us.”

She shakes her head. “No, I know you’re pissed off about that. That’s the obvious one. There’s something else.”

There are a million other things that this could be about. There are a million things that are ruining his life right now.

He knows what she wants him to explain. 

It should be easy. He should be able to blurt out, _I’ve been cheating on you since we first got together, but it shouldn’t even count as cheating, really, because he came first, because whatever the fuck is going on with us has been going on for months and I still don’t know what the fuck it is, and it just keeps getting worse, and I don’t have an explanation for you because I don’t have an explanation for myself and he isn’t making it any easier by coming in and trying to destroy my family’s entire empire, and I haven’t even seen him in what feels like forever but he’s still constantly fucking up my life and I have no fucking clue what I’m supposed to do about it._

The word vomit rises in his throat, but he can’t force his lips to actually form the words. He glances at her, then looks away quickly.

“Rome.”

“Yeah.”

“It’s Stewy, isn’t it?”

The blood drains from his face. “I don’t—”

“You’re sleeping with him, aren’t you? Or you—or you slept with him. At some point.”

 _Just say no,_ he screams at himself. _Just say no. Deny. Deny deny deny, and it’ll be fine._

Roman takes a long pause before he whispers, “Yeah.”

“Oh, thank God.” Tabitha lets out a sigh of relief.

He looks up at her in surprise, eyebrows furrowed. “I’m sorry, what?” 

“I knew.”

“What the fuck—there’s no way you knew. Fuck off.” 

Tabitha tilts her head and smiles slightly. “You think you aren’t the most obvious motherfucker in the entire world?”

“What are you—”

“The two of you together? At the wedding? Jesus, Roman, he’s got you wrapped around his finger.”

There’s a bitter taste in his mouth. He shakes his head. “He doesn’t—he doesn’t have me—I’m not that obvious!”

“Maybe not to other people,” she concedes, “but come on. I know you, Rome. The way you acted around him? The way he looks at you? I felt like I was in a fucking romcom, the way he kept staring at you.”

Roman’s cheeks flush. “He doesn’t—”

“You fucked at the wedding.”

His mouth drops open. “We—”

She raises an eyebrow. “When you came back to the room after seeing your _cousins_?” There are air quotes around the word. “You literally reeked of sex. It could not have been more obvious.” She shrugs nonchalantly. “I don’t care. I’m totally chill with it. I’m happy for you, seriously. You deserve to actually be able to get off every once in a while. Same as me.”

“You—”

“I may have fucked Connor’s girlfriend.” Her face is just the slightest bit pink. 

Roman blinks in surprise. His brain has short circuited; there are no absolutely no coherent thoughts. He closes his mouth, attempts to think of something to say, opens his mouth, closes it again.

“You cheated on me?” he finally manages to ask.

Tabitha rolls her eyes. “Clearly it was mutual.”

He can’t even be mad. It’s not like he didn’t see it coming, honestly.

It seems like a pretty fair trade-off.

“You and Willa,” he says stupidly. 

“Yep.” 

“Hot.”

She punches his shoulder. “You’re disgusting.” Roman pouts and rubs his arm where she hit. Tabitha raises an eyebrow and considers him carefully. “So, do you think this entire time we could’ve avoided the lack of fucking if I had just bought a strap-on?” 

Roman chokes. “I—”

“I’m joking. I’m joking.” She laughs. “Jesus, your face.” 

He forces himself to swallow and shakes his head. “I don’t think it’s—it’s not, you know, that I’m—I don’t know what…” he trails off.

He doesn’t know if Tabitha could have done anything to make it easier for him. She had tried. She had been open and willing to try a lot of things. They hadn’t managed to figure out what worked for him, because absolutely nothing did. There’s something broken about him, probably.

Except when it comes to Stewy. Whatever the fuck _that_ means. Roman doesn’t want to think about it. He tries really hard not to think about it.

“Do you just not like me?” Tabitha asks, fluttering her eyelashes and sticking her bottom lip out. 

“It’s not that I don’t _like_ you,” he says. “I like you a lot. I like you—I mean, you’re probably my favorite person that I’ve dated. Like, ever.”

“Aw, babe.” Tabitha smiles. “You’re so sweet.” 

“I like you,” he repeats. “It’s just—it’s that, you know, I—fuck, I’m—”

“Gay?”

Roman’s stomach drops. “What?”

“You’re gay.” 

“I’m not fucking—what the _fuck_ are you talking about?”

His ears are ringing. He feels lightheaded. He feels like he’s going to pass out—either that or punch Tabitha in the face, because who the fuck does she think she is? She doesn’t know anything about him. She doesn’t know anything. She’s wrong.

He’s not gay. He’s not. He’s _not_. 

“Roman.”

“Fuck you,” he snaps.

“Hey.” She shoots him a glare. “You don’t need to be a dick, alright?”

“I’m not—”

“Rome.” Suddenly, her voice is a lot gentler. “Hey, look at me, okay?” Roman forces himself to meet her eyes. She looks concerned. He hates it. “I think we need to talk about this.” 

Roman shakes his head. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

“Have you ever actually enjoyed having sex with a woman? Like, ever? Even once?” 

He swallows. “Yes,” he lies.

“When?”

“I don’t—with you, I mean—”

Tabitha cuts him off with a quiet laugh. “Roman, you fucking hate having sex with me. That’s why we don’t do it.”

Tabitha has given up on him, he’s realizing. It’s been a while since she even attempted to initiate something. He hadn’t noticed—maybe subconsciously, but he hadn’t thought about it like that. But at some point, she had just stopped.

“Do you like having sex with Stewy?”

“I don’t want to talk about—”

“We’re talking about it,” she says definitively. “Just answer the question. Do you like having sex with him?”

Roman looks down, fidgeting with the edge of the sheet. He doesn’t want to talk about it. He really doesn’t want to get into the logistics of where and when and with whom he can actually manage to get off. He doesn’t want to think about it too much, because if he starts thinking about it, then he actually has to confront it. He actually has to consider what the fuck is wrong with him.

His mind travels back to the night before the wedding, to Stewy’s dim bedroom, to Stewy’s hands pinning his wrists to the mattress, to Stewy murmuring _pretty boy_ and pressing soft kisses to Roman’s neck. His mind travels back to the way he never wanted it to stop, the way that he could have stayed in bed with Stewy forever, never doing anything but kissing Stewy and having Stewy’s hands all over him.

“Yes,” he says eventually. “Yeah. Fuck.”

He kind of wants to cry.

“That’s not a bad thing, Rome.”

“Oh, fuck you. Yes it is. You know it is. I can’t—I’m not allowed—I _shouldn’t_ —”

“Who gives a fuck?”

“I do!”

Tabitha shakes her head. “It’s not a bad thing,” she says again. “It’s just, you know—it’s the way you are. So what?”

She makes it sound so easy. She talks about it as if it’s not a big fucking deal, as if Roman’s life wouldn’t be ruined by it.

“Do you know how much I hate myself?” he asks quietly. “Because it’s a lot. I fucking despise myself, Tabs. I’m a—I’m a piece of shit, and I’m a mess, and I don’t need—there’s a whole fucking list of things that are wrong with me. I don’t need to add being a fucking _queer_ to the list.” The word tastes sour in his mouth. It comes out in his dad’s voice. 

Tabitha reaches out and puts her hand on his shoulder. “You’re not a piece of shit.”

“Yeah,” he scoffs, “try telling that to anyone else who’s ever met me.”

“I don’t think you’re a piece of shit. Clearly Stewy doesn’t either.”

“Don’t fucking talk about him.”

“Why not?”

“Because—because fuck you, that’s why. Just fucking—fucking stop. Please.”

Enjoying sex with Stewy doesn’t make him gay. It just doesn’t. It doesn’t mean anything. It’s not like there are any fucking _feelings_ involved. That’s not how they work. They don’t like each other. They get together, they fuck, they move on with their lives.

Sometimes Roman stays the night. Sometimes Stewy makes him coffee in the morning. Sometimes Stewy kisses him against the kitchen island, his hands on Roman’s hips, and tells him to stay a little longer. Sometimes Roman does. That doesn’t mean anything, either.

“Hey, Rome.” Tabitha shakes his shoulder lightly. “You being—I mean, this doesn’t have to change anything for right now. We can still be together or whatever. If you want. If that’s easier.”

“So what, this is like—like a fucking open relationship now?”

“Sure.” She shrugs. “Look, I know how hard it is. I really do.”

Roman doesn’t think she has any fucking idea how hard it is. He doesn’t say so. She’s doing her best, even though he really doesn’t deserve it. He doesn’t deserve her. 

_You should marry that one,_ his mom had said. Roman hadn’t quite believed what he was hearing. Neither of his parents had ever given a shit about any of the women he’s ever dated. They couldn’t care less about his relationships, really. They don’t have that much interest in their children’s personal lives. 

That doesn’t mean Roman could show up to family Thanksgiving with a dude, though. He thinks his dad would probably throw him out the window if he tried that.

“I can’t be…” He takes a shaky breath. “I’m not—I shouldn’t be, you know, a—whatever the fuck you want to say. I’m _not_.”

“Roman.” Tabitha’s voice is soft. “It’s okay.” 

“It’s not.” 

“You don’t have to figure it out right now. Whatever it is—whatever you are… that takes time, right? You can take all the time you need.”

The condescending tone pisses him off slightly. As if she knows him better than he knows himself, as if she’s already figured it out for him and is waiting for him to come around and accept it.

“How did you know?”

“Me?”

He nods. “How did you know you weren’t—that you were, you know.” 

“I like girls.” She shrugs. “Always have. My first crush was on my second-grade best friend. Didn’t realize it back then, but I had it bad for her. It’s sort of… natural, I guess? Girls are hot. Guys are hot. People are hot. I never really thought about it too much.”

“Must be nice,” he mutters.

She laughs softly and wraps an arm around his shoulders. He leans against her and sighs.

“It’s not easy. It’s complicated. Feelings are messy. Sexuality is messy. It takes time, alright?” 

“Right.”

“But you’re allowed to be gay, Roman.” She rests her head against his. “That’s not like—it’s not a rule that you have to be this perfect son, that you have to fit into this neat square box that you think is made for you. You’re allowed to be gay.” 

He wants to snap at her, to have some witty retort to spin it back on her, to yell at her and tell her she’s wrong. He doesn’t say anything. Tabitha hugs him tighter. 

“Hey,” she says quietly. “Have you ever—have you ever, you know, talked to someone about all of this?” 

“What, like a shrink?”

“Yeah.”

He shrugs. “I mean, I’ve got one.” 

Not like it’s ever done him any good. He doesn’t like talking about his issues. He doesn’t _need_ to talk about his issues. He doesn’t need a stranger knowing all of the intimate details of his life, especially not someone who thinks they’re going to fix him somehow. He goes to therapy, bullshits his way through an hour, pays the guy a couple hundred bucks, and then moves on.

“You know therapy only works if you’re honest,” Tabitha says knowingly. 

Roman rolls his eyes. “I don’t need therapy to work.” 

“Then you’re just wasting your money.” 

“I waste my money on a lot of useless shit.” 

She sighs. “I think it could be good for you, Rome. If you actually talked to someone. Honestly.”

“Yeah, I’ll take it into consideration.” 

Tabitha drops the subject. Roman is silently grateful.

“Hey, Rome.”

“Yeah.”

“I love you.”

Roman’s heart leaps into his throat. “Tabs—”

“Not like that,” she laughs softly. “I mean I just—I love you, alright? As whatever we are.”

He tries for a small smile. “Okay.”

“Yeah?”

“I love you, too.”

She hugs him tighter, and he turns and wraps his arms around her waist. He takes a deep breath, inhaling her perfume, and he feels his entire body relax. 

It’s new for him, being told _I love you_. It’s even newer to say it back. But somehow it doesn’t make him panic. He feels okay with it. He feels good, almost.

He feels safe. He feels loved. He feels okay.

* * *

Tabitha is the one who finally convinces him to show up at Stewy’s apartment. Roman feels like it’s a scene out of some terrible romance movie. He doesn’t want to do it. Tabitha casually threatens his life when he says so.

So now he’s standing outside Stewy’s door like a fucking idiot, hand raised and ready to knock.

The door opens before he gets the chance. 

Stewy looks at him in surprise. 

Roman opens his mouth, then closes it quickly and bites his bottom lip.

They stare at each other for a second. It feels like an hour.

“...hi,” Stewy says. 

“I can come back if you—”

“No, no,” he cuts him off quickly. “I, uh—I was just gonna run and grab dinner. You can—you can come in, if you want.” 

Roman follows him back inside. The whole thing is so painfully awkward that he wants to curl into a ball and hide behind the couch. They stand in the entryway, face to face.

“So,” Stewy says. “You’re here because…?”

Roman doesn’t have an answer. He shrugs. 

“Okay.” Stewy clears his throat. “Are you here to kill me, or to yell at me, or to, you know, have sweet, passionate makeup sex?” There’s a hint of humor in his voice, a spark in his eyes, and if Roman wasn’t so annoyed, he’d think about shoving him into a wall and showing him exactly who’s boss. 

“Tabitha told me I should come over.” 

“Tabitha, huh? You’re still with her?”

“Go fuck yourself.” 

Stewy blinks in surprise. “I was genuinely asking, Rome. I like her. I know you do, too.”

He runs a hand through his hair. “She knows.”

“About…?”

“About us, you asshole. About—you know.”

“And?”

Roman shrugs. “She’s, uh… she’s cool with it.”

Stewy raises an eyebrow. “Uh-huh. So you _are_ here for some sweet, passionate makeup sex.”

“You’re the fucking worst.” Roman pushes past him and walks into the living room. Stewy trails at his heels. 

“I’m kidding, Rome.”

“Sure you are.”

“How’s Kendall?”

“He’s fine.”

“Good to hear.”

Roman studies him carefully, but Stewy doesn’t give anything away. Roman wonders when the last time they spoke was. Then he remembers he doesn’t really care.

“So, you’re still going ahead with it,” he says.

“Yeah.”

“Big dick move.”

“You would know.” Stewy smirks. 

“Fuck you.”

“Yeah, we’re still going ahead with it. Is that an issue?”

“No.” Roman tilts his head. “I, personally, love watching things blow up in people’s faces.”

Stewy nods thoughtfully. 

“For what it’s worth,” Roman says, “I still think you’re a piece of shit.” 

Stewy shrugs. “What else is new?” 

“You’re such an insufferable little prick.” 

Stewy nods and takes a step towards him. “Mhm. Tell me more.”

Roman narrows his gaze. “You’re egocentric, and you’re narcissistic, and you never get off your high fucking horse for one goddamn second, and you make me want to fucking rip my hair out of my head every time I even look at you because you frustrate me so fucking much.” 

Stewy takes another step. He’s close enough that Roman can feel his breath. Roman takes a step backwards, then another, and his back hits the wall. Stewy crowds up against him, putting a hand flat on the wall next to Roman’s head. Roman swallows.

“You get on my last fucking nerve, you pretentious piece of shit.” 

“I missed you, too,” Stewy says, and leans in and kisses him, and it feels like someone dumped a bucket of ice-cold water over his head.

He grabs onto Stewy’s t-shirt and pulls him in closer, returning his kisses roughly, purposely biting at his lips just a little too hard. Stewy forces him against the wall, holding onto his hip with his free hand and digging his fingers in.

It’s been way too long. Roman hadn’t realized how much he fucking missed this.

Stewy turns his attention to Roman’s neck. When his teeth scrape over his skin, Roman doesn’t stop him. Stewy takes the opportunity to leave bite marks all the way down Roman’s throat. 

He doesn’t know exactly how they end up in Stewy’s bedroom, but suddenly they’re there, and Stewy is practically throwing him onto the bed, then scrambling to pull his own shirt off and undo his pants, and Roman can’t do anything but sit back and watch, his heart pounding in his chest.

Stewy pushes his thigh in between Roman’s legs to give him something to grind against while he kisses him, and Roman tangles his fingers in Stewy’s hair and pulls, and Stewy moans into his mouth, and Roman already feels like he’s getting close, like he’s a fucking teenager, and he thinks he might explode before Stewy even undresses him.

“Stewy,” he whines when Stewy finally pulls away to catch his breath.

“What, baby?”

“Can you—”

Stewy cuts him off with another kiss. “Want to try something.” He grinds his hips down against Roman’s, and Roman gasps. “Do you think you can come like this, sweetheart?”

Roman’s head is spinning. He whimpers at the idea of it, at the prospect of getting himself off against Stewy’s leg without anything else, and the craziest fucking part is that he thinks he could, that he’s already so worked up and desperate that he thinks that a few more touches from Stewy will end it all.

“Yeah,” he gasps.

“Good boy,” Stewy murmurs. He kisses Roman again, rough and needy, and repositions himself to give Roman the best angle to grind up against him, and he brings his hips down to meet Roman’s, and Roman moans his name. 

Stewy’s lips are back on his neck again, and Roman grips onto his hair, guiding Stewy’s head to where he wants it. Stewy follows obediently, his teeth and tongue and lips covering every bit of Roman’s skin, leaving pink and red marks in their wake.

Roman loses track of how much time has passed, but he can feel himself coming to the edge, and he tells Stewy so. Stewy smiles and kisses him and whispers words of encouragement, pressing himself harder against Roman, and Roman jerks his hips up, whimpers Stewy’s name, and comes in his pants.

Stewy doesn’t stop.

“Good boy,” he says softly, his hips still grinding down against Roman, and Roman feels like he might cry from how overstimulated he is, how _good_ it feels. “You’re so good for me, sweetheart.”

“Yeah,” Roman manages, voice choked. “Stewy.”

Stewy pulls back and fumbles with the zipper on Roman’s pants. Roman reaches down to help him, and Stewy lifts Roman’s hand and kisses the inside of his wrist softly. He takes off his own belt and tosses it to the side. Roman hears a _thunk_ as it hits the floor. Stewy pauses with his fingers in Roman’s waistband.

“Baby,” he says, voice gentle. “Want me to fuck you?”

Roman’s brain short circuits. His eyes water, and he nods desperately. “Please.”

“This okay? You’re good?”

“Yeah. Yeah. Good.” He nods. “Stewy, please.”

Stewy smiles and kisses him again before pulling away and fumbling in his bedside drawer. Roman takes the opportunity to take a deep breath, attempting to slow his racing heart, but it doesn’t do him much good. 

Stewy murmurs to Roman under his breath as he works him open. Roman can’t bring himself to respond with anything besides soft moans and whines and Stewy’s name in a broken voice.

Roman feels like he’s going to pass out as Stewy lines up and pushes in. He grabs onto Stewy’s arms. Stewy doesn’t hesitate, thrusting fast and deep and babbling, “Good boy. Good boy. Good boy,” over and over again, until the words slur together and all Roman registers is the fact that he’s being praised, that Stewy is telling him he’s good, that he’s being good for Stewy, and the thought of being good for Stewy almost makes him come again that easily, and he would feel almost pathetic if it didn’t feel so fucking good.

Stewy kisses the junction of his neck and his shoulder, soothing over the bruise that’s forming there, his lips warm against Roman’s skin. His thrusts have slowed now, pushing deeper, and he keeps hitting the spot that draws broken moans from Roman’s lips, makes him tighten his grip on Stewy’s arms, his fingernails carving crescents into his skin.

“Stewy,” he whispers. His throat hurts.

“Come on, baby,” is Stewy’s reply. “You’re so good. You’re gonna come for me again, come on.”

It doesn’t feel like it should be possible, but it’s fucking _Stewy_ , and something about that makes Roman think that he could come over and over again, that Stewy could effortlessly bring him to the edge a dozen times over, until Roman is nothing but whimpering mess underneath him, and he thinks he would _like_ it.

Roman nods. “Faster,” he chokes out.

Stewy speeds back up, gasping Roman’s name, and it only takes a few more thrusts before he’s coming undone with a loud moan, and he keeps going, harder and harder, until Roman follows suit with a pathetic whimper.

Stewy pulls out and rolls over onto his back, struggling for air. Roman stares straight up at the ceiling, sparks still dancing across his vision, his mind foggy, waves of pleasure still rolling through his body.

 _Fuck,_ he thinks. _Maybe I am gay._

The realization probably would have caused a panic attack if he wasn’t so fucking exhausted. 

“Stewy,” he says after a few moments. 

“Yeah.”

“I think I’m gay.”

Stewy laughs, short and surprised, and Roman smiles stupidly. He turns his head towards Stewy, who rolls onto his side and pushes himself up on one arm. “You think?”

Roman nods. “I think.”

Stewy leans in and kisses him sweetly. “I’m glad I could be of service, then.”

Roman closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. 

It’s not like it’s anything new, really. 

He probably should have known this a long time ago. He thinks he _did_ know, that he has known, but he was so desperate for it not to be true that he shoved it into a box and locked it up and hid it deep inside his brain, an issue to never be touched, or if it was going to be touched, to be handled with care, with gloves and an climate-controlled, airtight room, like they do with old, decaying books.

Stewy reaches over and rests an arm across Roman’s stomach. Roman puts his hand on Stewy’s wrist. They take a breath and let it out in sync.

“Rome,” Stewy says softly.

“Yeah.”

“You good?”

Roman looks over at him. Stewy searches his expression, looking a little confused and concerned, as if he isn’t sure that he’s allowed to ask the things he wants to ask, as if he’s worried that Roman is going to push him away and leave again. 

“Yeah,” Roman tells him. “I’m good.”

Stewy smiles and kisses him, and Roman kisses him back, and the guilt that’s been eating at him for so long shrinks from the size of a tiger to the size of a housecat, and it slinks away between his ribs.

He’s still figuring it out. He’s still coming to terms with it. He doesn’t know exactly what it means, what it means for him or his future, but for right now, he feels okay. He feels settled, secure in Stewy’s arms, and he’s okay. 

Stewy kisses his neck softly before laying his head back down on the pillows. “Roman.”

“Yeah.”

“You’re good.”

Roman closes his eyes and nods, repeats it to himself: _You’re good._

_You’re good._

**Author's Note:**

> this was my first time ever writing and publishing actual smut so uh...... yeah. i was finally talked into doing it. 
> 
> please leave kudos and comments if you enjoyed and come hit me up on tumblr @vaguelyprophetic


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